


Shroud of Ashes

by orphan_account



Category: Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: Evil Scientists - Freeform, Human Experimentation, Multi, Psychological Trauma, Remcest, S/G/Z/A/C
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-19 00:02:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the past month, Sephiroth has been caught between two words-between his loyalty to Shinra and his devotion to his friends. All that holds him in his place as General is the affection of his only remaining companion Zack. But a disturbing act changes Zack forever, and Sephiroth has no choice but to search for Genesis and Angeal in a desperate attempt to keep everything from falling apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Well, this project came out of nowhere, and may be going nowhere, but it is already dear to my heart. A new version of the events in Crisis Core, where everything will change. Pairings to be decided as we go, but almost certainly S/G/Z/A/C (OT5!) and Remcest. But I'll warn you in the chapters if and when those come up. For now, just enjoy the ride.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core, Advent Children, Advent Children Complete, any of the related merchandise, or Dirge of Cerberus. If I owned Dirge of Cerberus, things would have been different.

Sephiroth had never been a fan of waiting. Ever since he could remember, the moment before a battle was the worst part of a fight for him. He'd always despised being put on hold, and made that clear enough that there was no longer any company who dared to do anything but speak directly and promptly to him. He had eliminated almost every element of pure waiting from his life—he didn't even order delivered food like so many of his Soldiers did.

And yet, ever since Genesis had left his life without a word, all he seemed to do was wait. When Angeal followed, it was twice as bad. He waited for the orders to follow them that he knew would never come. He waited for Shinra to do something so outright heinous he could justify running from the men who relied on him. He knew why Genesis and Angeal had run, but he saw nothing strange in the way they had been treated. It was unfortunate that the degradation had occurred, but there was nothing to do but fight it now, and he did not see how them leaving could possibly have helped either of them.

So he did the only thing he could. He talked Professor Hojo into working on a cure, careful to do so in such a round about way that the fool would believe it was his own idea. He put plans in place in case he vanished and left Soldier without a General. Then he waited for Angeal and Genesis to come to their senses and return, or Shinra to drive him away. It was looking less and less likely that either of those things would happen before his friends were destroyed.

Because of his impatience, and his annoyance, and the agony of waiting for so very long, when Genesis finally appeared on his balcony one night, he reached for his sword instead of going to embrace him. Sephiroth stood as Genesis opened the bay window and staggered through, his wing folding behind him. He looked ill and sickly, but he was one for the dramatics. Sephiroth kept his distance and waited.

"Seph," Genesis rasped, his voice cracking in his throat.

His sword wavered. Sephiroth lowered it. There was something wrong with that voice. It was Genesis's, of course, but it was not. The soft Banora accent had vanished, along with any traces of bravado. If anything, Sephiroth would have labeled the Genesis standing before him as a native of an area closer to Gongaga.

"Seph, help me," The man who was obviously a clone pleaded, extending hands empty of a sword towards him. "Please, help me."

"Not just anyone may enter my apartment," Sephiroth said lowly and darkly. "And I do not welcome assassins or spies."

"What? I don't-"

Sephiroth shifted his feet just a touch, then blitzed forward, grabbing both of the extended hands of the clone in one of his own, and using his free arm to pin him back against the wall by his throat. He gave an undignified squawk at the motion, and struggled uselessly, eyes wide with fear. He was still crying.

"Now I will release your throat in a moment," Sephiroth said lowly to the man whose breath he was momentarily halting, "And you will do nothing but answer my question. Who are you?"

He shifted his forearm back, removing some of the pressure from his intruder's trachea. He'd been careful not to crush, but the clone gasped for air like he'd been suffocated for solid minutes. Sephiroth fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"I-" The clone gasped, lifting glowing blue eyes to Sephiroth's, meeting them with a shocked sort of fear that was in and of itself confusing.

"You have five seconds," Sephiroth informed him calmly, counting down silently in his head. He was more than willing to deliver the Turks the living clone they had been wanting. This foolish creature might even help Hojo find the cure he'd been searching for.

"It's me, Seph," The clone choked through tears. "It's Zack!"

Sephiroth had been preparing to cut off the copy's breath again, but the words froze him as suddenly and solidly as though he'd just been struck by an ice spell. He should have kept his guard up—have at least doubted the words—but he didn't. He lowered his arm slowly, and released the hands he was holding captive. The Genesis copy slid down the wall, sobbing raggedly, and drew his knees up to his chest. Sephiroth watched with confused distance as he hid his face in his arms, looking for all the world like Angeal's puppy, and yet so wrong—so very impossibly wrong. The wing arched behind him was half-crushed in his position against Sephiroth's apartment wall, and it shook with every ragged sob.

It wasn't possible, of course. It wasn't at all possible. Zachary was in the small apartment Shinra had given him after Angeal deserted, and it became apparent that they would require more highly-ranked role models for the cadets to aspire towards. He hadn't come to visit Sephiroth's office like he usually did—not for the past two days—but it wasn't unusual for Angeal's puppy to change his routine. Between his current conquest in the form of a pretty slum girl and his busy life as a role-model and Soldier, his absence had not seemed at all unusual.

Sephiroth pulled out his phone, still staring at the crying clone. He pulled up Zachary's number—his third speed dial, behind Genesis and Angeal—and held the phone to his ear, waiting to hear the familiar voice. Zack would answer, he thought, with the forced note of happiness that had colored his voice ever since his teacher left them both to join Genesis in desertion. He'd be surprised,and shocked, and confused by the deception—as much as Sephiroth was and more. And then he would know for a fact that the tears were manufactured. Once he did, the crying clone would have to answer to his questions.

But the voice never came. He was answered with a chipper, obnoxious voice mail and a beep. He glanced downwards at the greying hair of the Genesis copy. He hadn't looked up again since his proclamation, and he looked so beaten down, and so tired. It broke Sephiroth's heart a little, every time he saw one of these twisted creatures which both were and were not his best friend. Every time he had to kill them and see Genesis's eyes closed in death.

He pulled his eyes away again, redialing Zack's phone, hoping that he'd simply been asleep. Another answer by voice mail. Sephiroth called one more time, and clenched his jaw when there was no reply once more.

"I lost my phone," the clone said brokenly from where he sat curled against the wall. " When they changed me into this they took my clothes, and it was in my pocket. If you're trying to call me at all. Of course you're probably calling the Turks to come and collect the Genesis copy, huh." A dry laugh wrung from him like a sob, and he lost himself again, crying helplessly into his gloved hands.

Sephiroth took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. It was so wrong to see Genesis like this. Even if he was not really Genesis. His red-haired, mercurial friend had many facets, and many moods, but he had never been prone to crying, or showing sorrow in any way. It manifested as rage in Genesis. If the copy had been flying off the walls, setting fires, attacking Sephiroth or causing himself harm, he would have had no problem accepting that this was simply another imperfect clone. But it was wrong. So far all the clones he had met were little more than mindless worker drones. If this one was lying, than it was showing a remarkable ability to hold on to its sanity. Worthy of a chance, part of him thought, overriding the part of him that was focused only on the danger represented by the pity and concern in his chest.

"I do not believe your story," Sephiroth said, his voice quiet and dark. "And if you have done something to Zachary in order to pull off this forgery, I will kill you."

"I don't know whether to be happy you're protective, or scared," The clone said with another choking laugh, looking up at him from beneath knitted brows.

Sephiroth inspected those eyes, searching for answers. They were unmistakably Genesis's eyes. That intense blue that he'd been obsessed with since childhood. Eyes so very different from his own—So human, and so very full of desires. Except that now, though they were physically the same, they were filled with tears, bloodshot around the rims, and looking slightly puffy from crying too much. There were dark circles of exhaustion marring his perfect complexion, and his expression—it was all wrong. It was almost as disturbing as the one time he'd seen Genesis act on stage instead of just reading loveless. Genesis, and not at the same time. He felt the pain in the back of his head building again, in the same place that twinged every time he killed one of the creatures with his friend's face. His eye twitched. He tried to shake it off quickly.

"Seph?" came Genesis's quiet voice from the base of the wall, where he was still sitting, curled up tightly in place. "Are you okay, Seph?"

"Do not call me that," he instructed coldly, staring just over the head of the clone instead of looking in his eyes any longer. "And be silent. I am attempting to decide what to do with you."

"You sure?" the clone asked again, shifting a little. "Your eye is doing that twitching thing that it does when you're freaking out a little."

"I do not freak out," Sephiroth muttered, snarling slightly as he glanced behind himself, checking the door at his back to ensure this wasn't just a distraction.

"Sure you don't," the voice said with a soft note of teasing behind the tears. "Because you totally got your feelings surgically removed when you found out they could be uncomfortable."

"Zachary," Sephiroth started, whirling on him, "I've told you-"

He broke off, the words he'd planned to say fading away abruptly. Genesis's clone was looking up at him with a wide eyed gaze. Sephiroth studied it as his mind struggled to catch up. He finally decided the expression was displaying something along the lines of 'hope.' He took a slow, deep breath.

"See, Seph?" the clone spoke softly, and his voice was shaking with every word. "Even your subconscious knows it's me."

He considered all his options. Part of him was screaming that it was true. That this was Zack—Angeal's puppy, who he'd sworn to himself he would protect and lead in his friend's place. But another part screamed in denial. To accept that this was Zack would be to surrender on the option that the real Zack was elsewhere, possibly in danger, possibly waiting for him to arrive and lend him aid. What was the harm in playing along, the part of his mind that was still calm and analytical asked. It received no coherent answer. A rush of emotions, but nothing substantial. He shut out his own discomfort and uncertainty, and crouched slowly before the clone.

"What happened?" he asked softly, keeping his face schooled to blankness. He would not show this clone weakness, whether he was Zachary or not. And if he was, he probably knew that it was there without being shown.

"I went after them," the clone Sephiroth was now thinking of as Zack said. "Angeal and Genesis. I know you said not to, and that we'd find them together, but I got impatient, and the last time we saw them they both looked worse for wear and-"

"Zachary," Sephiroth interrupted, though the name felt wrong coming from his lips while he was staring at Genesis's face. "We will not dwell on any missteps for now. Facts. No tirades. Start at where it went wrong."

"I-" Genesis's face twisted a little, and he drew in a shaking breath, letting it out slowly, struggling to regain his calm. "I found their hideout. I had a little help, but I found it. I thought—Oh, wait, just facts. Um, they let me in, and I thought that Angeal might have planned for me coming to find him. I thought maybe he wanted me to. So when one of the clones started leading me downstairs, I went with him."

"Who was there?" Sephiroth asked, studying the body language of the clone as he spoke. He was not good at reading people, and it took all his attention to catch nuances. He could detect a lie from a cadet at twenty paces, but in delicate situations like these, it was often hard for him to tell real tears from false ones.

"Hollander," Zack rasped softly.

The way he said it rang true in Sephiroth. It struck a part of him straight in the heart of where he hid his fears. He was not afraid of Hollander—the man was simply a dumpy scientist with more drive than he had talent. It was the way his name had been spoken. He recognized it very well. He'd said Hojo's name that way so very often, when explaining what was wrong to Genesis or Angeal. When realizing something else was wrong with him. When finding another trainee's name removed mysteriously from the roster.

"He said he'd take me to Angeal," Zack said softly, "but I'm not a total idiot. I realized something was wrong, then. So I tried to run." He flared the wing behind himself, and flinched at its movement, glancing back to the feathery appendage with confusion and a trace of fear. He swallowed as the wing settled, and turned his blazing blue eyes back to Sephiroth. "You might have guessed already that I didn't exactly make it out."

"And yet you are here." Sephiroth muttered, fighting to ignore how the figure before him was trembling. "So did you escape, or have you become yet another puppet, sent to kill me."

"No, Seph," Zack said softly, his voice shaking as heavily as he was. "I think you've lost enough friends without having to kill me. If I hadn't made it out, I would have killed myself before doing that to you. Even if you didn't know it was me at the time."

Sephiroth stared at him. They were on the same level, with him crouching and Zack still pressed against the wall. He studied his position, looking for Zack in it and coming up blank. Unsurprising, since he'd never seen Zack despondent, or particularly afraid. The one time the boy had been frightened, he'd spent the entire evening wrapped in Angeal's embrace, fighting tears and hiding against his mentor's broad chest. Genesis had teased him mercilessly, but Zack hadn't seemed to care. It had been a display that Sephiroth couldn't help but think of as intensely strange and disturbing, seeing Angeal cradling the boy in the same hands Sephiroth had seen him slay thousands with.

A traitorous part of him rose up, quietly. It defied all his logic, and all of his training. It was just a whisper in the back of his mind, but he couldn't help but notice it.

'If I hold him,' he was thinking to himself. 'I could find out if he reacts the same way as he did at Angeal's offer. And perhaps he would stop crying. I do not like seeing him looking so broken. Not Genesis or Zack.'

It was a silly and childish thought. It was the basest sentimentality. It was something that, if Hojo discovered it, would cause him unspeakable pain as his father deprogrammed the instinct to comfort. It had happened before. He could still strongly remember the ungodly torment he'd undergone after Hojo found out he had named one of the lab rats. The thought was unspeakably foolish, and everything he'd been told not to succumb to.

He opened his arms to the Genesis clone in offer. It took a moment, but once the gesture registered, tears welled in those pained eyes again, and Sephiroth found himself with an armful of Zack. The other man clung to him, arms wrapped around his back and fingertips digging into his leather jacket almost painfully. The wing flapped once, awkwardly, as though the man were unsure where to put it, then drooped to the floor beside them, laying still. Sephiroth kept his arms out to the side a long moment, startled by how quickly the embrace had been initiated. Then he slowly curled them around the slim, solid figure that had attached itself to him.

It was strange to hold someone. Anyone. He'd made it clear a very long time ago that he disliked touch, and the only people he'd ever been close to at all respected his dislike. It crawled under his skin as the clone touched him. Intimate, disturbing and pervasive. The urge grew inside him—the urge to crack the neck of the clone, or his back—to remove him from the equation before he grew any closer. He did not. His hands rested lightly on Genesis's strong back, just under the joint where wing met flesh under his fading leather jacket.

"What am I going to do?" Zack sobbed against him in the voice that wasn't his. "What am I going to do, Seph?"

"What indeed," Sephiroth murmured, staring down at the greying hair that was all he could see with Zack's face pressed against his bare chest, leaving hot wet patches on his skin where he was crying.

"Poor Genesis," Zack choked against him.

Sephiroth balked in confusion, staring down in utter bewilderment. "Poor Genesis?"

"Yeah," Zack rasped, curling closer still. "Him and Angeal both, if they're really the same. It's horrible in here. In this body."

"How so?" He asked the question blandly, but his heart was speeding up with nerves.

"I can feel it dying," Zack whispered. "It's stronger than mine was, but it's—It's crumbling."

"Crumbling," Sephiroth repeated softly, thinking back on Genesis—on his shoulder wound which wouldn't stop bleeding—on the pained look on his face the last time he saw him, as though he were carrying to heavy a burden—on the last time he'd seen him, with his hair turning white and the tired look about him.

"Alright," Sephiroth whispered at last, staring over Zack's shoulder. "Alright, I believe you. And I know what we need to do."

"What?" Zack whispered against him, pulling back to gaze at him, sniffling softly. As wrong as it was to see Genesis cry at all, it was even stranger to see him wiping his runny nose on the back of his sleeve. "What do we need to do?"

"We leave tonight," Sephiroth answered softly, turning his gaze from the boy. "The same way you came in. We find Genesis and Angeal, and then we all try to survive."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Leaving was not nearly as easy as it ought to have been. Sephiroth was ready to go at a moment's notice. He had a bag packed with non-perishable supplies and clothing for three days by his doorway at all times. It was all he needed to begin any mission. True that this time he would eventually need more, but even that would be easily obtained. He had connections and sway. He could have called up a month's worth of MREs and no one would have bothered to think twice about bringing them.

The problem was not at all in Sephiroth's readiness. It was in the clone's.

Whether he was Zack or not, the clone was in bad shape. Sephiroth had left him shaking against the wall to fetch his extra bracer and the set of materia it carried. When he'd returned, the pathetic creature was no better. He did his best not to look at the borrowed face that it wore, but it was impossibly difficult to ignore. Genesis's eyes were closed with dark bags underneath them, his lips were parted and small noises of stress and fear managed to find their way through. His greying bangs fell in front of his forehead in disarray. The impossible wing draped uselessly to his side.

Sephiroth let out a long breath and turned to walk away again rather than addressing the clone. He'd meant to tell it that they were going now,but he could hardly expect the clone to make it without supplies of his own. Clothing at the very least. He went to his sparse kitchen first, drawing out a few more of the supplies he kept on hand to restock his emergency bag after a mission. When he'd packed enough for two people to last five days, he'd filled another small duffel. He dropped it by the first at the doorway, glancing over to the clone again.

He sat where he'd been left, still silent and still shaking. Sephiroth ripped his gaze away. Part of him was deeply wary of the silence. Zachary was many things, but silent had never been one of them. Not even when he returned from his mission to Banora with shell shock had he been silent. Suspicion rose in him, and he let it. It was better than the worry and fear that were his only other options for the moment.

He drew in a breath, ready to go and rouse the clone to fetch clothing, but thought better of it. He turned away again to walk back to his bedroom, searching for something Genesis sized.

'Coward,' his own subconscious accused softly. He ignored it with the ease of long practice.

His clothing was bigger than Genesis's, but not by much. It would do for a journey. He packed away the traditional first-class uniforms which he himself never used. He had no spare pauldrons, however. At least the copied jacket had some slight armaments built in. Though Sephiroth would have preferred to think they could escape smoothly, he knew better than that. Eventually, trouble would find them. The thought spurred him to think of a final preparation that needed making. He looked to the wall of his room, scanning the decorative swords that hung on the wall.

He walked over, inspecting them. None of them were first-class caliber. Not even close. But they were functional blades. There was nothing Sephiroth despised more than a weapon that was purely decorative. Beauty he could appreciate, but not useless beauty. He ran his fingers over one of his katana's, gained from a general he'd killed. Genesis—the real Genesis—had always been disturbed that he kept it. He said it was both bad form and bad luck to steal from a fallen enemy. Sephiroth had informed him, quite honestly, that he didn't care. The only other option was that the blade be destroyed by Shinra as most of the fallen Wutaian's weapons were.

Sephiroth took the blade off the wall and unsheathed it, turning it over in his hands. The blade was a little dull, but it had stood up for a couple of hits against Masamune before Sephiroth had broken the man's guard. It was light for his tastes as well, but substantial enough, and probably not too heavy for the weak creature hunched in his living room. It would do. He sheathed the blade, and took it along with the bag of clothes into the living room. He dropped the bag onto the feet of the shaking clone.

"Up," Sephiroth insisted, not allowing himself more time to dally. "It's time to go."

The clone gave a little jolt, blinking his eyes open and looking up at Sephiroth. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot clear across, and it only made the blue look more intense. Sephiroth glanced away from the look, preferring not to maintain eye contact. The clone yawned, and a realization struck Sephiroth that sent him reeling.

"Were you asleep?" he asked suspiciously.

"Guess so," the Genesis clone replied.

He shifted stiffly, yawning again. The wing stretched at the move,and the clone skittered away from his own appendage's motion, staring over at the thing in alarm, as though he had forgotten it was there. Sephiroth fought the urge to hide his face in his hand. Zachary or not, whoever was using Genesis's body was very little like the actual general. Genesis would never fall asleep with his mouth hanging open and spend his resting time whimpering to himself.

"Just get up," Sephiroth muttered. "It's time to go."

He turned to go to the doorway, grabbing his own bag and the extra provisions. When he turned around again, it was to find the other man bracing himself against the wall as he struggled to his feet. Sephiroth took in the way his legs shook under him and clenched his teeth. Much though he would have liked it if the act of falling asleep where he sat had been laziness, he was aware that it was much more likely to be exhaustion. How far had the clone come, he wondered, to make it back to Shinra? How hard had he had to work to get himself up to the balcony window.

"Shit," the clone muttered, wincing as his wing moved off the ground. "Okay, that's sore, but I'm ready!"

Reckless enthusiasm sounded very strange in Genesis's low voice. Especially when it was coming out accompanied by a rasp of dehydration and pain. Sephiroth sighed, stalking back into his kitchen and filling a glass with water. He handed it wordlessly to the clone, waiting for the cup to be taken. He glanced over when it took a moment, and found Genesis looking at him with strange eyes. They were soft in all the wrong ways. The expression looked all wrong. Part of Sephiroth wanted to yell at him to stop. Part of him wanted the look to stay forever.

"Thanks, Seph," Genesis's face said softly as his hands rose to take the glass from him. They faltered, touching his wrist first, and the clone frowned slightly, ending the effect of the softness. "My arms are longer than they ought to be..."

Sephiroth said nothing. He waited for the clone to fumble his hands into holding the glass, and then quickly withdrew his touch. His wrist was tingling where those lithe fingers had made contact with him. He resisted the urge to shake the perceived touch away after the fact. He glanced over again, watching the Genesis clone drain the glass dry in no time. He leaned back against the wall as he finished, with a sigh of satisfaction. Sephiroth reached out to take the glass, and found Genesis's hand shaking around it. He resisted the urge to hold them until they stopped trembling, and set the glass down on the side table.

"Now we need to go," Sephiroth urged, pressing the sword into the clone's hand. He shouldered the three bags himself, having decided that it was very unlikely the clone would be able to support his own weight much longer this night, much less the weight of supplies.

"Aren't you bringing Masamune?" the clone asked, even as he wrapped his arms dutifully around the sword.

"Of course," Sephiroth replied, giving him a blank look. "That is for you. Masamune is always with me."

"Aw," The clone cooed softly, glancing down with his beautiful stolen eyes to look at the sword in his arms. "Thanks, Seph."

"Hn," Sephiroth walked over to the balcony that was still open to look down the building. It was a long way down. "Do me a favor and wear it correctly, if you are so grateful."

"Right!" The Genesis clone fumbled with the sword and his belt, cursing softly to himself as his fingers shook and slipped on the cord of the katana.

"Fingers are a weird size," He muttered sheepishly in explanation, the very tip of his tongue sticking out in concentration. Sephiroth averted his eyes from the strange and un-Genesis-like expression.

The cord finally succumbed and allowed itself to be knotted by the shaking fingers of its new owner. The Genesis clone straightened, trying to put his shoulders back, and stumbling instead as the movement shifted his wing and threw him off balance. He flashed a brief, sheepish grin, and steadied himself as best he could. Even with his legs spread in an at ready stance, he was still wavering. Sephiroth sighed and stepped out onto the balcony, keeping an ear on the quick, stumbling steps that followed him, a little too eagerly for their current state.

"You don't really believe me, huh?" the voice asked behind him. Sephiroth found that when he wasn't looking, it sounded less like Genesis's voice.

"I find it difficult to believe," he answered truthfully with a shrug. "But I am certain that you are, at the moment, no threat to me in any way. I could slice you in half before you started to draw your sword."

"Thanks for that charming image," his companion grumbled, stepping up beside him to look over the railing of the balcony.

The wind blowing across the side of the building wafted his scent towards Sephiroth. His senses were briefly filled with the unpleasant tears and sweat, along with a deep rich earthy tone which was almost pleasant, and a disturbing undercurrent of cinnamon and smoke. He glanced over at Genesis's face, looked up to his greying hair, and turned quickly away again. Richest auburn should never fade into such an unpleasant grey, he thought to himself, stepping up on the ledge of the balcony.

A hand caught his wrist quickly, and he almost fell at the unexpected touch.

"What are you doing?" asked the clone, looking up at him in alarm as he clung to his wrist. "It's, like, fifty stories down!"

"I am not riding piggy back on your wing," Sephiroth informed him curtly, pulling his hand swiftly out of the clone's grasp. "I am perfectly capable of such a jump. If I were you, I would be more concerned with holding yourself together long enough to use that wing effectively."

He turned without looking back, and jumped neatly off the balcony. Air rushed past him, tugging on the supply bags he wore. It whipped through his hair, and for a moment time seemed to slow. He loved this feeling. The feeling of perfect flight. Even if only for a moment. He could feel the sky calling to him—the very stars calling to him. 'Come home,' they always seemed to say. 'Come home to us, where you can look down on this petty world, which has always been below you.'

The ground never failed to arrive too fast for his taste. He landed lightly, his hair settling neatly about him and his jacket waving at his calves, still shifting from the rush of wind. He glanced upward, missing the fall already. What he saw was not attractively open air, however, but a half-flailing half-gliding clone of the man who'd once been his best friend. He drifted through the air, wing extended, but not exactly flapping. Every now and then, he wobbled in the sky, as though he might fall, but he stayed airborne, drifting out towards the edge of Shinra property, and the beginning of Sector Seven. With a sigh, Sephiroth turned his back on the building, his home, his life, and his men. All for the sake of the only three people in the world he allowed to call him 'friend.'

He felt disturbingly like a boy chasing after a kite as he followed the man and his vast wing overhead. Not that he had ever flown a kite, or pursued any childlike activities of the sort. However he had observed the behavior, and he had to admit that his actions were similar to theirs—walking briskly under an overhead figure, trying to keep relatively close to it, staring upwards, with occasional glances down to ensure he did not trip.

He took detours to avoid patrols, and was pleased that his companion blended into the night sky so well. No one took any notice of the flying man at all. One soldier spotted Sephiroth, and snapped into a salute, but Sephiroth simply waved him down and moved on his way without more than a glance. He was less than pleased at being seen at all, but if anything the young man watching him walk away would probably spread the rumor that he had taken a late night stroll in the morning when it was discovered he was missing.

He followed the shadow of Genesis's wing into the city proper, and here he took care not to be seen. Taking to the rooftops was a simple matter of a few neatly placed jumps. The wind moved quickly there, dragging up all the city's dust and dirt to strike his face and tangle in his hair. His senses were attuned enough that he could pick up the stench of the Sector Seven slums twining up from beneath the plate. Even on the street he would not have evaded the smell. Though the President failed to notice his city's foundations rotting, Sephiroth had known from the moment he set foot out of the labs and into the city proper.

The shadow of Genesis wobbled again, and Sephiroth picked up the pace. He was willing to guess that it was no longer a matter of if the clone was going to fall, but when he would. He lept gaps between buildings neatly. He had seen soldiers failing such jumps in his time as their general, but could not imagine failing to do so himself. He may not have had wings, but he had never felt a lack of them. Who needed wings, when he could jump like he was flying already?

He landed lightly, angling himself to follow the shadow. As he prepared to jump again, something flashed to his right. He glanced over, and saw a flicker of streetlight glancing off of a camera's lens in a window. His jaw clenched. Photographers. The bane of his existence in so many ways. If they didn't belong to the Turks, they were reporters. And if they weren't reporters, then they were the ever damnable members of his fan club, obsessed with capturing his most private and intimate moments on film. He narrowed his eyes at the shadow of a person he could make out through the glass, holding out his hand to summon Masamune. He wouldn't kill the unfortunate creature, but destroying cameras often did wonders to cheer him up and keep his reputation clear. So long as they were not broadcasting live. He'd made that mistake once, and had paid for it.

A soft sound drew his attention before he could jump forward and make his position on the paparazzi known. He glanced upwards in time to see a wing fold and a figure begin to fall from the sky. The photographer was instantly forgotten, and he caught another flash out of the corner of his eye as he bolted away. In part of his mind, he knew that would pose much more of a problem than the Soldier who saw him, but he was otherwise occupied.

His companion had been flying quite high. It was taking quite a while for him to fall. Despite the time it took, he made no move to right himself. He tumbled gracelessly downwards, and Sephiroth sprinted towards where he would land. Even as he ran, he wondered internally whether it was worry for the clone that drove him or distaste at the idea of being discovered when the clone landed in a heap in the middle of the street.

He skidded to a halt at a building's edge, barely in time. As the figure tumbled past, Sephiroth had just a moment to grab the trailing end of a greying red coat. The long fall came to an abrupt halt, with a soft sound of a seam ripping, and a pop as though something had dislocated. The clone dangled upside down helplessly from the corner of his coat where Sephiroth had grabbed hold. He made a soft, pathetic noise as the wind pushed against him and set him swinging slightly. His wing drooped behind him, limp and shedding feathers onto the street below. His head was tilted back limply, his face barely visible at all. His legs bent at the knees limply, and his arms dangled useless and immobile.

Sephiroth sighed at the unconscious form he was holding up. With one arm, he hauled Genesis's copy upwards, tossing him over his shoulder. The wing hit him on the head as it followed the body's movement, and he scowled. If the monstrous feathered thing were left loose, it would no doubt drag across the rooftops and slow them both, possibly attaining some damage he would then have to find a way to repair. Assuming the clone lived which, from the way his breathing was shuddering against Sephiroth's back, he might not.

Despite his distaste, Sephiroth shifted, drawing the wing in close enough that he could manually fold it at the Clone's back and hold it there with the one arm he had wrapped around the man's waist. With his burden was in a relatively tightly bundled package, Sephiroth straightened and started moving again. Now that he didn't have to follow anyone, he was able to navigate the city quickly. Though his solitary excursions away from Shinra had been rare, he had more than once felt the urge to escape for a little monster hunting off the clock and away from prying eyes. Swift, skillful jumps took him over buildings, and he kept his landings light enough that his pauldron against the clone's stomach wouldn't drive the air out of him. Or worse, cause him to vomit. There was nothing Sephiroth hated more than cleaning bile off of his beloved jacket and out of his hair.

The city was lit beneath him, and seemed to glow as he practically flew over the dark, shadowed buildings. He glanced down now and then, catching sight of his own shadow cast on some back ally wall or sidewalk. He found a deep fascination in the way his hair flared behind him as he jumped and ran. Like a wing of his own, he thought, turning his eyes away as he neared the edge of the city.

He stopped on the ledge of the last building, looking out at the end of the plate. Beyond here, there was only wasteland for miles. Beyond that, sparse grasslands, then further on forests and mountains he'd only seen during missions. And out there, somewhere, were the two people who had betrayed him most deeply, who he ought to have hated, and who he instead missed like a hole in his chest.

He glanced at the immobile form on his shoulder. The wing was twitching under his restraining hand, and the body jerked now and then, as though caught in a nightmare. As he stared at the red leather and feathers covering his burden's body, he had a sudden and visceral image. He could feel fabric and the straps of a familiar belt, where he knew there were truly feathers under his fingers. He twisted slowly and looked behind himself. Rather than Genesis's copied hair and unconscious face, there were dark spikes of hair, wild and unmistakable, resting against Sephiroth's back.

Zack's face was limp and empty, and his breaths came heavy and ragged. His brows were twisted upwards, and tears were dropping off the bridge of his nose as he was held over Sephiroth's shoulder. Small, soft whimpers of fear escaped him, and the smell of a lab hung all about him, like a sick, twisted parody of a perfume.

The sight was like a punch in the gut. It was Sephiroth's turn to lose his breath. His friend—his last remaining friend—was trapped inside a body that did not belong to him. Trapped, and dying. He shook his head, looking away, and the phantom of Zack was once more Genesis's copy, with shaking feathers pressing against his hand. He did not look again. Almost unbidden, his hand stroked the shaking wing once, in a gesture that was almost comfort.

The answer was out there too, he thought to himself, lifting his eyes to the wastelands. Somewhere out there was Hollander, who could set his friend to rights. He would find a way to change Zack back, or Sephiroth would kill him and avenge the man who'd done nothing but struggled to keep them all together. He tightened his arm around the clone, stepping up to the edge of Midgar proper and staring down at the ground beneath.

Wind whipped upwards, as though barring his way. It carried the reek of decay and ruin from below the city.

"Without Shinra, what am I but a creature of ruin?" he whispered to himself as he stared downwards into the decay. "Without a cause, can a soldier be considered anything but a monster?"

There was no answer. He looked to his left, where Angeal ought to have been. He could visualize his friend, standing turned slightly away, with his arms crossed sternly. He glanced to the other side, where Genesis should have been. He could practically see his friend reaching into his coat's inner pocket to remove Loveless from where it rested over his heart, preparing to quote to him.

"My friend," Genesis would recite with a soft and serious note in his voice. "Do you fly away now? To the world that abhors you and I?"

"Yes," Sephiroth whispered in reply to the mental phantom, turning back to the ground below them. "I suppose I do."

He jumped, and he had a very long time on the way down to contemplate all he was leaving behind, and to listen to the stars call him home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the warm reception so far, darlings! Just as the warning, the next chapter won't be coming out till December, since I'm doing National Novel Writing Month in November. No time for fanfiction while that's going on, unfortunately!
> 
> Thank you all for the love and support thus far! This story is far from over, and I'm looking forward to traveling through it with all of you!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own FFVII, FFVIICC, FFVIIAC, or FFVIIACC. Please support the official releases!

Chapter 3

Zack kept feeling himself almost wake up, only to be dragged back down again. He was distantly aware of the smell of dust and something digging into his stomach uncomfortably, but he could not wake up. He felt wrong. Even in his dreams he felt wrong. New limbs sprouted on him, draining, and strange, and painful, and oh-so-wrong. He ripped them away as quickly as they came, but it was like tearing off parts of himself. He bled, and hurt, and ached where the new arms had been growing.

He struggled towards consciousness, managing the softest of sounds and a squinting glance at the ground before he was dragged down again. Shinra's shadow chased him over red rocky dust in his dream, reaching out like a hand. He ran from it, as fast as he could. He knew now what that hand meant. It would take everything from him—Take his friends, his family, and then eventually even himself. It would change him until he wasn't even human anymore.

A wing sprouted from his back, spraying blood across the sand behind him as it stretched. He screamed in denial, but the wing curved forward against his wishes, catching the air and slowing his run like a parachute. He tried to struggle onwards, but he could feel Shinra gaining on him. He lifted his head, looking forward, and saw a broad back before him. Dark hair fell almost to the figure's shoulders, and an enormous sword rested in his magnetic sheath. Everything about him called out to Zack.

"Angeal!" he cried, struggling forward, trying to get past the wing—away from the shadow—back to his teacher. "Angeal, help me!"

The figure before him started to turn, lifting his head. Zack had been heard. He reached his hands out, begging silently.

He was suddenly assaulted with something freezing cold and very wet. He jolted awake with a shriek that was too high pitched to be his own. His eyes flew open to find Sephiroth watching him with a bemused expression, and dripping canteen in one of his hands.

"What was that for!?"

"You weren't waking up," Sephiroth said calmly with a shrug. "I rectified the situation."

"By throwing water in my face!?"

"Exactly."

The tall general stood elegantly, pacing a few steps away. Zack spluttered after him, sitting up to wipe the water off of his face with both hands. He felt the dirt on them leave mud in their wake, and groaned softly. Glancing down at himself, he found he was almost entirely covered in the fine red dust that surrounded Midgar for miles.

"Oh, what the hell, Seph. Did we run through the desert or something?" he groused, brushing himself off as best he could. His hands were shaking,and it made it difficult for him to do an effective job of getting himself cleaned up.

"No," the general bent over as he spoke, rooting around in one of the packs nearby for something. "I ran through the desert carrying you. You did no running yourself."

"You carried me?" Zack tried to sit up as he asked, and flopped back with a rush of air as his muscles failed to support him right.

"You were not ambulatory. It did not leave me with many options."

Zack frowned, wracking his mental dictionary. Once upon a time, he'd have just asked if the word Sephiroth used didn't come to mind, but recently it hadn't seemed right. Something about Sephiroth made Zack always want to be his equal. He didn't like having to ask him questions every five minutes.

"Okay, got it," He finally muttered to his general. "Sorry about that. I didn't mean to pass out on you."

Something rustled softly to his left. Zack glanced over at the sound, on the alert at once in case of danger. Feathers greeted him, shifting over the leaves and rustling them loudly. An enormous wing, he thought. My enormous wing.

Memories struck him, rising without warning. He could still feel the bullet that ripped though his chest and felled him. There had been harsh hands pressing down over the injury. He could remember his own screaming. It seemed like he'd screamed for hours. Then the hands had grabbed him again, releasing the injury to let it bleed and bleed as his body tried to catch up. They'd dragged him away. When his foot got caught, they simply ripped it free and twisted his ankle without a care. He'd still been screaming.

And suddenly the screaming had stopped. The pain was still there, the blood was still there, the utter confusion and agony remained, but the screaming stopped. Not because he wanted it to, but because suddenly there was no air. He was submerged in liquid. He fought against the doors that closed around him-struggled to hold his breath while his body screamed for oxygen—cursed mentally every instinct that had told him to come and find Genesis and Angeal. And then he had had to breathe.

It was neither water nor air that entered his mouth and lungs, but a thick, viscus, horrible mess that invaded him eagerly, pressing down inside of him and filling him up from within. It had been so aggressive—so enthusiastic—that Zack had thought he'd felt it building up enough pressure to start coming out his ears. He couldn't breathe it, and his lungs still burned, but he never passed out. He never got worse. He never died. Pure Mako wouldn't allow for any of those things.

"Zack." a low voice said as a hand was placed over the center of his chest, giving a little shake. "Wake up."

"I'm Genesis," Zack whispered, blinking his eyes open, the thought sticking with him and carrying over from his mind onto his lips. "Seph, they made me Genesis!"

Sephiroth said nothing. He stared down at Zack from above, his expression blank, but his eyes holding some emotion—something deep and painful, that Zack couldn't quite put his finger on. He'd have tried harder if he hadn't been struggling not to start screaming like a mad man right then and there. The silence stretched, and Zack slowly let out a breath, feeling the urge to scream recede in the face of Sephiroth's calm. It almost hurt, how calm he was. Zack wasn't entirely sure how much of that was that Sephiroth just didn't care.

"Eat something," The silver-haired man finally said, his cat-slit pupils contracting briefly as he glanced upwards. "We'll have to move farther tonight. I can hear helicopters. I believe they know I am missing."

"I'm not hungry," Zack said instantly, shaking his head. "Not even close. I don't think I'll ever be hungry again. Not after what they-"

"Don't think about it," Sephiroth interrupted briskly. "Don't think about it, don't talk about it, don't remember if you can help it. It happened. It's over. Now eat."

Sephiroth pressed something into his hand, then stood and paced away again, looking for all the world like he was headed somewhere important, despite the fact that their little camp site didn't seem bigger than ten feet. Zack couldn't see anything that needed doing.

He sat up slowly this time, forcing his uncooperative body into compliance. Muscles he hadn't known he had ached and burned with every move. He didn't let himself think about the fact that they might really be muscles he'd never had before. Red hair fell in front of his eyes, and he was quick to brush it backwards, away from his field of vision.

He glanced down at his hand, inspecting the nutrition bar Sephiroth had left him with. It looked horrible. He knew what these things tasted like, and had made it something of a personal mission to never be in a position where he had to eat one unless it was life and death. He glanced up to Sephiroth. The man was standing still as stone at the edge of the camp looking outwards at nothing. His eyes didn't glance to Zack once, and his expression was fixed and serious as he gazed slightly upwards towards the horizon of the night sky, apparently listening for helicopters.

Zack glanced down at the nutrition bar again. It might have been nothing—it almost certainly was—but he knew for a fact Sephiroth never gave anyone anything. Even Genesis and Angeal had received things from him sparingly. They had to ask for things as simple as glasses of water in Sephiroth's apartment, and though Sephiroth always allowed them to do as they wished once they had permission, he never fetched the drinks for them. Though it looked horrible and smelled worse, having the unappetizing bar placed in his hand by the great General himself made it seem special.

Despite his qualms, Zack unwrapped the bar and ate it. Special as it might have been, being handled by Sephiroth had not greatly improved the flavor. Zack had to choke it down the same way he'd do a shot of bad whiskey—by letting it touch his tongue as little as possible. But he did choke it down. He made a face as he finished, ignoring the disconsolate rumble of his stomach and casting about for some water. He caught sight of the jugs, and tried to stand to fetch one for himself.

His wing flared as he tried to rise, throwing him off balance. He stumbled sideways and fell gracelessly onto the feathers. Pain shot through the wing at the jolt, and he couldn't restrain the yell he let out. It hurt like a bitch. The wing was as sensitive as bruised skin all over, and it twitched at the pain as he struggled to right himself and get off of the appendage which was already starting to throb in time with his heartbeat.

A firm hand stopped his movement, then hooked around his back and lifted him carefully to his feet. Zack went still as he was touched by Sephiroth, moving obediently under his hand. His wing fluttered briefly before folding obediently at his back, cowed into submission and good behavior by the General's presence.

"Are you still injured?" Sephiroth asked, his intense green eyes holding eye contact the moment Zack looked up into them.

"Just sore I think," Zack whispered in return, shifting just a little as he looked up at Sephiroth. He was a little shorter than he was used to being. It was strange to see Sephiroth from Genesis's eye-view.

"Drink," was Sephiroth's only answer to the statement. He pressed a bottle of water into Zack's hands, then turned to walk away again. "When you are finished we will go. I do not want to linger too long. And you are staying by me at all times. I am still not entirely convinced you are who you say you are."

"Um," Zack took a swig of the water, swishing it around his mouth and spitting to wash out the taste of dirt before he continued. "You're probably going to hate me for what I've got to say, then."

"What would that be?"

"I really have to pee," Zack muttered in answer, fiddling with the water bottle. "And I don't think I can if you're watching me."

He'd never had a chance to see General Sephiroth blush before. He doubted he'd get the chance again. The speed with which the man turned away and motioned him on to do his business drove away any embarrassment Zack had been holding and replaced it with utter amusement. He edged into the woods, not far away, to handle his business and try not to think about how cute Sephiroth was when he was out of his depth.

He returned a little shaken. It was one thing to know that you'd been turned into someone else. It was another thing entirely to relieve one's self through someone else's privates. It was Zack's turn to blush, and he was blushing profusely. Of all the things he'd thought of regarding Genesis recently, not one of those thoughts had been about having to hold his penis while he peed. The fact that it was Zack's body at the moment hadn't made it less awkward. He was really wishing for a pillow to hide his face under until he could forget everything that had happened.

Sephiroth was waiting for him. He never seemed move when he wasn't actively doing something, Zack noted as he approached. Sephiroth would pick a place and stand in it until he had a task. Like a roomba. A big, scary, beautiful roomba. He probably ought to have found it disturbing, but it was more endearing than anything. Just another strange, Sephiroth-specific trait. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he jumped a little when Sephiroth finally did move. The General's hand extended towards him, holding a sword that Zack recognized from the apartment.

It was a beautiful thing. The sheath was dark and simple, with bands of silver wrapped around the base, center, and tip. The handle was traditional Wutaian, with strands of fabric crisscrossing to form a lattice which would help a warrior grip the blade firmly. Zack stared at the weapon a long moment before a glance from Sephiroth spurred him forward to take it. It was light in his hands, but still managed to throw him a little off-kilter, and he staggered slightly. Fortunately, this time he didn't fall on a sensitive part of Genesis's body.

"Tie it on," Sephiroth ordered, interrupting his train of thought. "It is past time to move."

"Where are we headed?" Zack asked blearily.

"We are not going back to Hollander to have him fix you without backup," Sephiroth answered, shaking his head slightly. "There may be a few too many minions even for me. And you will not be of much use for a while."

"Gee, thanks."

"So instead we are searching for Genesis and Angeal. If anyone can provide us with cover, it is them."

Zack was silent for a long moment. His hands paused in tying the knot that would secure the sword's sheath to his belt. Genesis—the man who'd already destroyed so much that Zack adored. Who had deserted both his friends in a huff, and then sent minions to kill the people who he'd once considered comrades in droves.

"I'm not sure I want to," Zack said softly, surprised at how steady his hands had become with the swell of rage that Genesis's name brought with its mention.

"I beg your pardon?" Sephiroth said, his eyes locking on Zack's once more.

"I said I'm not sure I want to," the younger Soldier repeated, putting his shoulders back and only just managing to keep his balance as his wing shifted. "Angeal, fine, but I don't even want to breathe the same air as Genesis. All of this is his fault."

"Maybe," Sephiroth's voice was low, but growing ever closer as he walked silently across the leaf-covered ground towards Zack. "But Genesis has always been a mystery. His motivations for doing these things may yet become apparent to us."

"I don't care about his motivations."

"I do," Sephiroth stopped before him as he spoke, watching him out of narrowed eyes. "And as it was me who you came to for help, it is my choice."

"You haven't even seen them since they deserted!" Zack argued with narrow eyes. His face—Genesis's face—was twisted in frustration and annoyance. "Remember? You shoved all that dirty work onto me."

Silence fell in the shadow of the shouted word. Sephiroth's eyes averted abruptly, staring intensely at the treeline. Zack could hear him breathing deeply and quickly, and watched as he brought himself back under control. Zack was good at people, and strange though Sephiroth's tells were, Zack was always able to figure out when he'd struck a nerve. This time it was more than obvious.

"You know why I had to do that."

"Because you're a coward," Zack answered instantly, unable to keep himself from lashing out verbally. "A coward so scared of losing his friends he'll send his subordinates out to try and kill them before he goes and talks to them himself."

"That's not why, Zack," Sephiroth interrupted, his voice sharp and angry. "It was never about trying to kill them."

"Then what the hell was it?"

"You stood a better chance." Sephiroth said, lips pinched into a narrow line and his eyes narrowed at the corners. "You stood a much better chance of bringing them back. You have always been good at reading people—at convincing them of what was right. You have done it to me on more than one occasion. If I had gone after them, I would only have lost my temper, yelled, screamed, fought, driven them further away. I thought maybe if it was you instead, they would listen to reason."

Zack said nothing for a moment. He stared at his General, inspecting his darkening expression. There was no dishonesty in his eyes, despite the startlingly abrupt admission. Zack ran his tongue over his teeth, frowning as he found them too perfect and a little too sharp. He missed his chipped canine tooth, which he had never before realized he was so used to.

"Didn't really work, did it," he finally muttered.

"They are both still alive, and so are you," Sephiroth replied calmly. "Therefore, so far, it has worked."

"You can be so insufferable," Zack said, crossing his arms and trying to mask the discomfort he felt when the wing flared behind him in annoyance. It didn't help that the shift of weight made him stumble yet again.

"If you are well enough to argue, you are well enough to walk," was the only response he gained from his General.

Zack watched the silver-haired man shoulder the multiple packs and scowled darkly. It seemed like a million years ago when he'd last thought that he was surrounded by friends. The more time passed, the more he realized he'd been fooling himself. He was surrounded by people he loved who barely knew him, and who he barely knew. He'd all but thrown his life away for them. Standing there watching Sephiroth start to walk away from him without so much as a second glance, Zack was painfully aware that he didn't even know the man he'd been forced to run to for help.

Despite the unusual bitterness rising within him and the ache in his joints that was equally strange and worrisome, Zack did follow. His knees creaked and popped like an old man's as he started moving. A few steps later and they were already starting to hurt. It was maddening. With every heartbeat he could feel a power he'd never experienced before coursing through his altered bloodstream, but his stupid knees couldn't handle a little walking.

"No wonder Genesis flies everywhere," he muttered to himself, rolling his shoulders.

Sephiroth didn't respond, though Zack was certain his General had overheard. The man simply kept walking, his silver hair trailing behind him in silky swaths.

"Hey, Sephiroth?" Zack said after a long while of walking, unable to stand moving in silence.

"Yes, Zachary."

"Has anyone ever told you you're like a roomba?"

A long silence followed the words, and Zack felt his grumpiness slowly melt away the longer the silence stretched, replaced by an amusement that was far more familiar to him. His lips curled up in an entertained grin, and he tried not to let it bother him that the teeth he was baring weren't his own.

"No," Sephiroth said at long last. "I have not been compared to a small robotic cleaning device before. However, I must say that you share some traits with one as well."

"I do?" Zack asked, tilting his head and pausing a moment, taking the opportunity to arch his back and stretch out the tight muscles there.

"Yes. You are also impressively vacuous."

The laugh that escaped Zack was utterly honest. He grinned at Sephiroth's back, startled by the joke. He was too busy laughing to pay enough attention to his feet, and tripped with a soft gasp. He didn't hit the ground. Sephiroth moved in a flicker of silver hair and leather, one hand holding Zack's bicep, and the other bracing his chest.

"Sorry," Zack laughed softly. "I sometimes forget you joke!"

His laughter ended in an abrupt set of coughs as he straightened. He felt something in his chest rattling with each breath, and tried to ignore it, lighting up in a warm grin for his friend's sake.

Sephiroth stared at him. From up close, his eyes seemed even more impossible. They glowed brilliant green as he studied Zack, and his pupils widened and narrowed, as though they reacted with his very concentration, rather than simply the light.

"You are sick," he observed calmly.

"Guess so," Zack said with a shrug. "I'm sure achy enough. No big surprise, though. I mean, getting shoved into a new body, some things have got to go haywire, right?"

"Hn," Sephiroth turned away again, starting to walk once more. "You will tell me if it gets worse."

"Yeah," Zack said, "You got it, sir."

"We're alone," his General reminded him, glancing back briefly. "You may call me Sephiroth."

"Thanks, Seph," the brunette grinned at Sephiroth's back, always happy to take a mile when an inch was given.

That Sephiroth didn't so much as glare after the nickname was probably just evidence that he wasn't paying attention, but Zack preferred to believe that Sephiroth just didn't mind as much as he pretended to. He glanced down at his hand, opening and closing it as he followed Sephiroth through the forest they only seemed to be heading deeper and deeper into. His fingers were wrong. His palm was wrong. But his callouses were his own. Whatever they'd done to him, however impossible it had been, at least he still had his own hard-earned callouses.

They walked for hours. By the time Zack gave out, it had passed evening and was almost pitch black. Not that it mattered much—Genesis's eyes saw better in the dark than his own ever had. But though his eyesight held out remarkably, his legs collapsed under him at long last, and though he tried, he could not stand up again.

"It is as good a place as any," Sephiroth commented, staring upwards at the sky rather than looking at Zack. "I will set camp tonight. You have had a long day."

"Maybe I'll wake up," Zack laughed wearily, giving up and flopping onto his side, letting out a sigh of relief and stretching his stiff wing into the air. "And I'll still be me, and this will just be some crazy dream."

"Don't get your hopes up," Sephiroth cautioned calmly.

The General opened one of the bags he had been carrying since leaving his apartment and removed a pair of blankets, bound with two cords each into tight cylinders. He tossed Zack one, and untied the other himself, sitting upon it calmly. Zack fumbled with the ties, before huffing and forcing himself to sit up so he could have a better angle on the knots. They still wouldn't grip right, and after a moment of trying, Zack grinned in weary insight and pulled the roll closer, pillowing his head on it and smiling in satisfaction.

"Blankets are generally intended to keep a person warm, Zachary."

"I have that covered," Zack chirped cheerfully, shifting his unwelcome wing to drape it over himself like a big feathery quilt. Little though he liked it, it was very warm.

Sephiroth watched him with a very still expression, and Zack made a show of settling in, yawning hugely and curling up enough that his feet fit underneath the tip of the monstrously large wing. Still the General watched him, his eyes holding an intense fascination that Zack couldn't quite understand. There was something almost like obsession burning in Sephiroth's gaze.

Zack murmured a good night after a moment, hoping it would kill that unsettling look in Sephiroth's eyes. He was honestly exhausted, and though he knew there was much that had not been said between himself and Sephiroth, it would have to wait. He needed rest, even if Sephiroth did stare at him like a crazy person all night. It wasn't until he was on the very brink of sleeping that it occurred to him to wonder if the look in Sephiroth's eyes had been meant for him or Genesis.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sephiroth and Zack continue their search. But there has never been a journey without troubles and tribulations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait. Real life and original novels devour time more surely than any stone angel. Enjoy the chapter!

**Chapter 4**

Sephiroth found himself watching the Genesis copy an abnormal amount in the days that followed. It was unspeakably strange, interacting with someone who both was and was not Genesis, and at the same time both was and was not Zachary. He had never realized how much of a person's identity was tied up in their form. Where Zack had been big and almost intimidatingly friendly in his broad-shouldered and muscular form, wearing Genesis's body he seemed reserved by comparison, though he still did all the same things.

  
Four times now during their trek Sephiroth had been required to dodge a hug from the man. Four. And it was only the third day of travel. He did not welcome touch, and Zack knew that well. And yet, something about the man made him express any level of delight by flinging his hands out and attempting to hug the nearest person-shaped object. Sephiroth had observed that it need not actually be a person when they found the river after the second day, and Zachary attached himself affectionately onto a damp rock, snuggling it. The sight of dignified, refined Genesis with his monstrous wing and his flashing eyes snuggling an everyday river rock and getting a little mud on his cheek was nothing short of surreal.

He said to himself that it was the surrealism that made him want to watch so fixedly. He repeated it as many times in a day as he could—every time he caught himself eyeing the glint of Genesis's hair in the sun, or watching the wing flair and relax at his back. Zachary had already gotten significantly better at keeping the thing under control. Every now and then, Sephiroth saw him look upwards and squint, a little smile tilting thin, perfect lips that were not his own as he contemplated flying.  
If he were honest, though, it was not those aspects that made him watch Zachary. It was the same thing that drew him to all his friends, and fascinated him about them. It was the spirit he could see in those clear blue eyes.They held a sort of strange effervescence that radiated from the entirety of Zack's being. It was both similar to and absolutely opposed to the burning self-righteousness that seeped from the real Genesis. Both fascinating—both strange—completely different. And yet, now, they were somehow stuck together in the same form, and no matter how Zack tried (if it really was Zack, a part of his mind whispered treacherously every time he tried to think) he couldn't quite be entirely himself while Genesis's body held him.

However, his eyes remained lively and bright. Which was why when he woke up on the fourth morning with a dull, listless look in his foggy gaze, Sephiroth immediately felt a swell of worry. Zack stayed all but silent behind Genesis's impassive face as they walked. His gaze remained on the ground, and his footsteps were slower than the pace they had been setting in the days before.

Part of Sephiroth wanted to say something. He wanted to acknowledge the change, and make it clear that he wanted to know what was going on. But at the same time, it was not his way. He knew his men, and they knew him. He did not ask after the health of his subordinates. He assumed they were well enough to continue until a medic told him otherwise, or they were no longer able to continue marching. Zachary was still marching, and Sephiroth was still his General, even if not in name. So he did not ask, and he did not slow down. Not until Zachary crumbled.

At first, Sephiroth thought it was just that Zack had tripped. His equilibrium had still not entirely recovered from the transformation into a new body. He paused, waiting for Zack to get to his feet and continue following. After three seconds, he shifted, watching the other man's fingers clench in the soft soil. Then after five more, Sephiroth started to walk over. He moved quietly through the brush, and couldn't help but eye the wing splayed out to Zack's side. It was flexing in and out, slowly, in tandem with his fingers tightening and relaxing their grip in the dirt.

“Zachary,” Sephiroth said quietly.

“Something's wrong,” Zack said softly. Red hair glinted in the afternoon light as he shook his head slowly. “Something's wrong with me.”

Sephiroth crouched slowly, taking Zack's chin gently in his hand and tilting his head up slowly. Genesis's face was pale and drawn. There was a strange mark on his cheek that drew Sephiroth's attention from the still-dull cast of usually brilliant eyes. He tilted Zack's head, ignoring the confused twist on his comrade’s brow.  
There was a crack on his cheek. There was no other way to describe it than a crack, though Sephiroth was certain that it was a word that ought not to be used for human injuries. But the mark was not a cut. It was not a bruise. It was a crack. It did not bleed, and it was not swollen, but it was undeniably a mark made in the skin, and not a superficial coloration. Sephiroth could not resist the urge to touch it.

The skin around the mark was smooth, but dry. The mark itself had hardened edges, like shards of pottery clay. As his finger touched it, Zack recoiled, gathering enough energy to break free of Sephiroth's grasp and stare at him.

“Ow,” he said in sharp rebuke. “What the hell was that, Seph?”

“There is a crack in your cheek,” Sephiroth said dully by way of explanation. “That should not be possible.”

Zack's hands lifted to his own face, tracing over his own cheeks. His fingers found the broken pieces of skin, and traced over them in horrified curiosity. He was starting to shake, and Sephiroth wondered abruptly if he ought not to have refrained from giving Zack that information.

“What the hell,” Zack whispered, his hand still on the mark. “What the hell is this? What is happening to me, Seph!?”

Sephiroth didn't have an answer. He clenched his jaw and shook his head in response. He expected Zack to melt down, or to start screaming. He wouldn't even have been terribly surprised if the boy broke into his half-manic laughter. He did laugh at strange things, after all.

Instead, Zack's eyes rolled back in his head, and he started to shake harder. Abruptly, Sephiroth realized that the shaking was not a reaction, but a symptom in its own right. He rose to his feet smoothly and backed away from the convulsing boy. There were no immediate dangers in the area of his thrashing. Better to stay out of his way and avoid being harmed or harming him until the fit passed.

He watched from behind dispassionate eyes, waiting for the seizure to pass. He felt annoyance rise as Zack continued to spasm rather than arising for him to continue inspecting and questioning. It was frustrating, being stuck watching while he finished thrashing about. Sephiroth crossed his arms slowly, waiting impatiently for his friend to settle.

A glimmer of silver drew his eyes away from the overall spasmodic motions to the bright red hair that fell over Zack's face as it had Genesis's. His annoyance faded to be replaced by fascination. Grey was working its way down the hair, from the scalp through the bangs. It formed a thin streak, sapping the color from the hair a few strands at a time. It widened slowly, until there was an inch-long scar of grey through otherwise red bangs. Abruptly, the change stopped, and with it, so did the seizure Zack was experiencing.

Sephiroth waited a moment, observing the limp form now sprawled on the ground. When he was assured the fit was truly at an end, he moved forward slowly.  
Zack remained unmoving, breathing raggedly and deeply in unconsciousness. It made it easy to lift the hair away from his face unnoticed. He inspected the grey hair, stroking a single finger down the swath. He lifted a strand of his own hair with the other hand, and held the two together a moment before dropping them both with a soft sound. Even he was not sure whether it was disappointment or not. They were not the same. For a moment—just one moment—he had wondered if perhaps there were others similar to him. Though his silver hair had not come about through seizures, he would have accepted that method in another. No one was as perfect as himself, after all.

But Zachary's hair was not silver now, but a dull, lifeless grey. It appeared to be brittle, and lay almost stiffly in comparison to the rest of the lovely hair. As though it had been bleached and starched.

The great wing shifted through the dirt, and Sephiroth took it as a sign that Zachary was awakening. He stood to move away, but hesitated, finding the hem of his coat caught in a weak grip. He stared down at Zack's gloved hand, unsure what to do with the situation. He could remove the grip easily, if he chose to. But he was unsure whether or not that was the correct option. Zachary trusted him. His trust was useful. Sephiroth had to act carefully to keep from breaking it. Otherwise, he would have very little assurance that Zack would follow his commands when it was of the utmost importance.

“Seph,” Zack whispered.

It was too late to remove the grip now. With Zack awake, it would be too blatant of a dismissal. So instead, Sephiroth accepted the silent request and sank to one knee once more, staring impassively at Genesis's face as Zack roused slowly.

“What--” the man whispered, his voice low and gruff, seeming unable to hit his usual voice. Sephiroth repressed a shudder at the way that weariness touched Genesis's voice.

“A seizure.” Sephiroth replied without waiting for the question to complete.

“Am I dying?” Zack asked.

Sephiroth did not answer. He was no master at reading people and their emotions, but he knew the tone of Zack's voice. It was fear. And Sephiroth had no comfort to offer him.

'He is afraid of death,' a voice whispered in his head. 'What kind of Soldier fears the inevitable?'

'Hush,' he replied to his own internal voice.

Zack's hand was shaking in his jacket, but it was no convulsion this time. It was pure fear. The leather of his gloves creaked with the intensity of his grip. Sephiroth considered a long moment how to respond, before slowly reaching down and covering Zack's hand with his own. He did not remove the clinging hand, but simply covered it silently with his own, in a show of silent solidarity.

“We will fix it,” Sephiroth asserted firmly.

Zack was staring at him. Sephiroth watched the shift in his eyes as he spoke. The dullness fled, replaced by the spark that had always been there, hiding behind the surface. It made him look more like himself. And more like Genesis at the same time.

'Fascinating,' the inner voice whispered.

'No,' Sephiroth silently replied, repressing the rage that rose with the word he'd heard spoken by his father so many times.

“Thanks, Seph,” Zack was whispering.

The hand under Sephiroth's released his coat abruptly. Zack didn't intend to release him, though. His hand was tightly gripped, and the exhausted puppy clung to it like a lifeline itself. Sephiroth eyed the hand on his, noting its inherent strength, and the ways his pale skin looked against black gloves. He did not hold the hand in return. But he did not remove the grip either.

“Thanks for everything,” Zack whispered, pulling himself up slowly to sit, letting out a long breath.

“I have not done anything, Zachary.”

“You left with me,” Zack whispered, his grip tightening just a little bit. “You believed me, and now you're trying to save me. That's not just 'anything.' That's everything.”

Sephiroth said nothing in return. He stared down at their joined hands, and waited. He was not enjoying the touch on his hand. It was firm enough, certainly. He preferred firm touch to light ones. But it was too connected. Too close. It was dangerously familiar.

“I was already considering leaving my post as Shinra's General.”

“Really?” Zack asked in bewilderment, his grip lessening just a little, Genesis's head tilting in his soft confusion. “Because of Angeal and Genesis?”

“Perhaps,” Sephiroth replied softly. “I have been... Considering it for some time.”

“How long is 'some time?'” Zack asked, remarkably clear and bright for having just experienced what Sephiroth could only describe as a seizure.

“If you are well enough, we should move far enough onward to find shelter for the night. We are nearing Banora as it is. It would do us well to move with more thought and less speed from here on out.”

“That was a dodge,” Zack said softly, eyeing Sephiroth with eyes that were Genesis's, but somehow more intuitive—almost frighteningly so.

“Perhaps because it is none of your business,” the once-general replied, standing and shaking Zack's hand off.

'Maybe he would understand,' the other voice in the back of his head whispered—the voice that was more human than any other part of him.

'No one understands,' his other voice replied, dark and dangerous. It made Sephiroth shiver to hear the almost feminine aspect of his mind speak with so much force.

'No one could ever understand. He would turn on you. As they all have, one by one.'

“Stand up,” Sephiroth ordered, averting his eyes from Zack's borrowed form. “We're moving.”

“What is wrong with you?” Zack asked, sounding hurt and a little fragile. “I'm hurt, Seph. There's no reason to be a jerk about it.”

“I am being pragmatic, not a jerk,” Sephiroth replied, cutting his gaze down to Zack.

The moment he laid eyes on him, his resolve wavered. He looked like a kicked puppy. He was managing to make Genesis look like a kicked puppy. His eyes were luminous and watery, brimming with tears that he wouldn't let fall. The hand Sephiroth had previously allowed to hold his was curled at Zack's chest, covering his heart as though to guard it. His newly greyed hair was falling into his face, dull and limp rather than vibrant and lively. And the look on his face... He looked wounded. Not just in pain, but wounded. As though Sephiroth had struck at the very heart of him.

Sephiroth knew he shouldn't soften. He knew that growing any closer would only leave him open to being more deeply hurt. And he knew that his inner voice was right—that eventually Zack would leave him too.

He knew all of that, but he still crouched at Zack's side and touched a hand to his newly marred cheek. He brushed away the tear that almost fell from Zack's eye, and heaved a soft sigh, searching his mind for an apology, though they never seemed to come to him. He had a mental block against apologizing. He could never form the words. But it seemed he didn't need to.

At his touch, Zack calmed, and his hitching breaths evened out. The luminous, sad eyes closed lightly, and his tense shoulders drooped. Sephiroth took it as a good sign. He gave the greying hair a gentle pet, brushing it back out of Zack's face.

“Be strong,” Sephiroth said after a long moment, rather than apologizing. “I rely upon my soldiers to be strong.”

“Yes sir,” Zack said softly, his eyes still closed and his pose weary.

“I know this is difficult for you,” the general said, allowing his hand to side through that strangely soft hair yet again—how it was not oily after so many days of walking, he was not sure—and cupping Zack's other cheek, drawing his attention. “And I understand that you are hurting. Know that what orders I give you, I give in an attempt to protect you and keep you safe. You must trust me to have those motives in mind.”

“Sorry, sir,” Zack breathed, letting out a slow breath. “I know that. I do.”

“Good,” Sephiroth replied. “Now. Stand up, Zack. We need to keep moving.”

Zack opened his eyes—Genesis's eyes—and looked up at Sephiroth through their suddenly clear depths. His tears had vanished, replaced by a quiet resolve. There was a word for it, Sephiroth thought, finding himself caught in that bright blue gaze. There was a word for how he thought those eyes looked.

'Beautiful,' the inner human voice whispered.

For once, his other side—his darker side—didn't argue.

And when Zack moved forward, Sephiroth didn't stop him. When their lips met, Sephiroth allowed it. And when it continued for longer than a moment, he took control. He deepened the kiss, shifting his hand from Zack's hair to the back of his neck, drawing him closer to the kiss, devouring the taste of his lips. He didn't care that it wasn't sterile. He reveled in the unsanitary nature of human desire. He thrilled at the sounds that escaped Genesis's throat as he plundered his mouth.  
And then he remembered himself, and as suddenly as he had let it begin, he broke the kiss. Zack was panting, but smiling at him. It was a soft, open-mouthed smile. His eyes were shining again, with want and desire.

“Zachary,” Sephiroth began.

“It's okay,” Zack interrupted, putting his hand lightly on Sephiroth's chest. “I know you want Genesis, not me. I don't mind. I really don't.”

Sephiroth let out a slow breath, watching the puppy smile sweetly at him. It was wrong, he knew. The puppy's assessment wasn't incorrect, but it also wasn't... Complete. It wasn't that Sephiroth didn't want him. It was that he wanted them both. And wasn't it perfect that now they were both neatly wrapped up in the same body...  
He shook his head slowly, and brushed a hand through Zack's hair again before taking his hands and standing, drawing the puppy up with him as well. Better not to tell Zack that. He was reasonably certain the puppy would not approve of having his current condition appreciated. And it wasn't as though Sephiroth wouldn't help Zack recover his true form. But a treacherous voice in the back of his head had been urging him towards kisses, and touches—towards what was for now all his own. After all, soon he would meet up with Genesis and Angeal. Soon he would not have this strangely damaged and attractive Zack with him. Soon he would have his precious Angeal back, and Sephiroth would be background noise yet again in a dance of personal interactions that Sephiroth had never and would never understand.

But taking advantage wouldn't do. He released Zack's hands once the man was on his feet, and turned to lead him towards Banora—just a little closer and they'd begin running into the natural cave formations of the area, where they could take shelter. And it would just be shelter. No more kissing, he promised himself. No more touches.

“This cheek thing really hurts,” Zack muttered behind him. “And it really really doesn't make sense.”

“I know,” Sephiroth replied, glancing back to see Zack poking at his cheek. “If it hurts so much, I would not bother it.”

“But it's weird,” Zack replied, casting him a rather wide-eyed look.

“You'll make it worse, messing with it,” the general warned, shaking his head and turning back to watch the forest as he walked through it.

“I know,” sighed the puppy behind him. “But I've been thinking... What if we don't find Angeal and Genesis here? I mean, where do we go from there? Maybe we should have stayed at Shinra... The scientists there--”

“No,” Sephiroth interrupted sharply, whirling on Zack.

The puppy froze behind him, fixed in place by Sephiroth's gaze, as the general had known he would be. Sephiroth approached slowly, letting each step carry a warning and a threat, watching as Zack's eyes grew wider, and the wing curled at his back.

“You won't mention it again,” Sephiroth ordered, leaning close to address Zack from only inches away. “That is not and never has been an option. Is that clear?”

“Clear as crystal, sir,” Zack responded, his voice a little on the breathy side.

“Good,” Sephiroth said shortly, backing a step away to allow Zack room to breathe. 

He knew that his presence was intimidating. It had probably been cruel of him to use it like that. But it wasn't an option. It wasn't. Sending Zack into those white halls—into the rooms full of machines that would make it so much worse before they made it better—into a place where few ever left, and if they did leave they were never the same... It would be a surer destruction for the puppy than death. And if a little application of brute force helped drive that point home, then it was worth the traces of fear and confusion that had entered the puppy's scent.

Sephiroth turned away and started walking again without another word. Zack followed him, interrupted only now and then by a stumble or a stagger. The first somewhat-defensible location Sephiroth found, he stopped at. They would be reasonably secure at the side of the small cliff-face. The hills had some jagged outcroppings here nearer Banora's rolling hills. They afforded at least some shelter.

He motioned to the panting Zachary to sit down while he paced out as far as the tree line, walking swiftly and stiffly along it, mentally measuring the distance from where they would be settled to any potential kill zone for a threat exiting the woods. As his curve met the other side of the rock face, he crouched deep and leapt up onto it, glancing around. The top of the hill had fewer, if any trees. Sephiroth looked around the rather bare hill and nodded his approval. He would hear anything approaching them from this angle. It would die before it even crossed the edge.

He jumped lightly down, landing with barely a whisper. He looked over to instruct Zachary to get some sleep, only to find the Genesis copy already lying down, his head pillowed on his arms and his wing splayed behind him haphazardly. Genesis's eyelashes were dark and feathery over his pale cheeks. The streak of grey in his auburn hair could almost be mistaken for a trick of the evening light, Sephiroth thought. He wandered over slowly, looking down at the vulnerable, sleeping form. He wanted this, he thought to himself as he stared at the lithe body that could move so gracefully, and had for so many days now been subjected to awkward stumbling and disjointed motion.

'I always take what I want,' he thought to himself, gazing down at the delicate features that belonged to his first friend.  
But that wasn't quite true, and he knew it. He had wanted freedom, and had never taken it. He had wanted Genesis for years, and had never dared. Had wanted Angeal, and never found the way to put it. Had wanted Zack, and hadn't dared for fear of hurting him. He was far from always taking what he wanted. But Zack's offer was tempting--the smile with which he'd proclaimed he didn't mind if Sephiroth used him as a stand in for Genesis--it had not been so sad a smile. He might really not mind.

But not now, Sephiroth thought, shaking his head and moving to the rock wall to sit slowly, his eyes falling to half-mast. The clone needed his sleep. And though Sephiroth would not sleep that night, he would keep watch for him, and let him get the rest he so needed. Later, perhaps. Later, when they had found a way to heal the strange cracks in his skin and the greying hair. Then he would consider it again.

Despite his rigid decision to wait, as he watched the Genesis copy breath deeply through parted lips, he could not hide the desire that ate away at him. The kiss had been a surprise. And he wondered if, perhaps, Zachary had his own agenda that would change his selfless plan. He quietly hoped that he did.


End file.
